


Skinny Love

by IvyPane



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, Drabble, Fluff, M/M, Microfic, One-Shot, Post-8x17, Post-Goodbye Stranger, Songfic, ish? idk man, tags are hard wow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-30
Updated: 2013-10-30
Packaged: 2017-12-30 21:53:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1023824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IvyPane/pseuds/IvyPane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas's musings as he rides the bus with the angel tablet and hears a song on the radio. Surprisingly, the human music makes him listen a little harder for a moment and remember what he is desperately trying to forget. I wrote this after 8x17 to make myself feel better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skinny Love

The song was perfect.

Despite his worries about the legion of angels no doubt perusing him this very moment, his wonderings of how he could possibly explain everything to Dean, his wishing for it all to be different, all to be easier, Cas lost himself momentarily. Like all things truly beautiful, the human song was fairly simple, easy to pick up and adore and make into your own. Castiel found himself tilting his head a little sideways in wonder as the tinny speakers of the coach he was on chimed out the lulling, rocking melody. By the end, he was mouthing the lyrics of the chorus and, as suddenly as a thunderstorm, there were tears in his heavy-lidded, lonely blue eyes.

Dean, that's why; Dean. The song made Castiel think of his face, softened by lamplight, and his eyes, green as crystallised spring leaves, and his hair, tousled recklessly, and his full lips, parted slightly whenever he caught sight of 'Cas', as if he lacked air; sometimes, his mouth was pried apart by a pink tongue like Dean couldn't quite articulate a nagging thought, and Castiel swore he would give anything just to hear that thought fly free. The tune and the words and the singer's voice made the angel remember a well-worn coat and hands on his shoulder-blades where his wings are and a blazing parade of kind, fierce, firework-bright looks and the press of human bodies and the smell of pastry and cars and Dean, everything Dean.

Castiel blinked and tried to make his face passive; he failed, instead breaking out into a small, hurt smile. "I need you." He repeated Dean's words with reverence, whispering so only the lightly shuddering pane of glass within the bus window could hear him. It trembled harder in reply, shocked and humbled at the phrase, much like Castiel himself. The angel almost sobbed out loud when he saw it vibrate; Dean shook like that too as Castiel had laid the palm of his hand on the curve of one battered, bloodied cheek as gently as he could, pained by the fear in Dean's eyes and the little gasp he gave as Castiel's fingers touched his skin. The sound of it - a breath of fear and suffering and unnerving acceptance – was haunting and melodious; a ghost of this song. It had made Castiel's chest tighten fit to crack his ribs and burst his vessel's heart.

Where were the better times gone? Where were the times when Dean would teach Castiel about humanity? Where were the times when Castiel would learn? Where was the warmth of Dean's hand on his shoulder and his eyes on his lips and his breath on his cheek as they whispered about the unnatural matters of the world that threatened the uneasy, fragile balance they maintained amongst themselves? When had it all broken? Why did he pretend it hadn't? Where was it all bleeding out into, where was it all leading?

"What is skinny love?" Castiel asked that same windowpane, breath fogging up the glass, greying the night outside the window, ageing it. "Dean, won't you tell me, one day, make me understand, make me see this human concept; what is skinny love?"


End file.
